


(we ain't) got no time

by MassiveSpaceWren, transpeterparker (partlycharlie)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Identity Porn, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Panic Attacks, Torture, let me know if there's anything i missed, standard hydra shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-05-24 18:49:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14960126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MassiveSpaceWren/pseuds/MassiveSpaceWren, https://archiveofourown.org/users/partlycharlie/pseuds/transpeterparker
Summary: “Thanks, Shellhead,” Winter mutters, and Tony is once again startled, this time by the unhindered sound of Winter’s voice. He probably should’ve realized, especially considering he was the one who has created the technology, but Winter’s voice modulation is controlled with the mask, meaning that the voice he just heard is Winter’s normal speaking tone.Fuck.It’s fucking gorgeous.[Story by partlycharlie, art by MassiveSpaceWren]





	1. #fuckhydra #fuckpanicattacks

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends! it's ya boi charlie, back at it again
> 
> this is for the cap RBB! i worked with the lovely artist [massivespacewren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MassiveSpaceWren/pseuds/MassiveSpaceWren) (who, _holy shit_ , goddamn) and my beta [AppleJuice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/capolleon/pseuds/AppleJuice), as always, for being absolutely incredible! thank yall for dealing with my Bullshit(TM).
> 
> uhhh disclaimer: 1) i don't own this, am not profiting, blablabla and 2) be careful y'all pay attention to the tags
> 
> love you guys!
> 
> edit (7.15.2018): thank you guys so much for 100 kudos!!!! i don't know how that happened but oh well

  
  


It starts with…

Well.

It starts with a fall.

A bit more of a literal fall than most falls at the beginning of a story, but a fall nonethe-

Wait.

No.

No, no, no.

Sorry. Wrong timeline.

Anyway -

It starts with a kidnapping. To be fully accurate - not a kidnapping, per say. A little bit less common than a kidnapping (just a little bit), but still very exciting.

So. Setting up the scene:

Picture this: The Asset, sitting in The Chair (as one does, of course), long brown hair flowing majestically past its (because Assets don’t get human pronouns, obviously) shoulders -

(Just kidding, the Asset hasn’t showered in like 60 years, so.)

\- long brown hair flowing _greasily_ past its shoulders, hiding its face from view. Handcuffs (metal, but, like, reinforced, obviously, because the Asset has Mad Strength) attached to its arms and legs. The _annoying as fuck_ tactical mask still attached to the bottom half of its face (because fuck talking, am I right?). Naked.

No joke - just. Full on naked. Dick hanging out, hairy legs, emasculated stomach, the whole deal. The Asset doesn’t generally get clothes when it’s not on a mission, because its Handlers either hate him or have _really_ weird (or fucked up? AND fucked up) kinks.

Or both?

Ew.

Anyway.

Also: Brock Rumlow (a.k.a Certified AssholeTM) standing in front of it, arms crossed across his chest.

(His muscles bulging, because even Certified AssholesTM work out.)

Rumlow (who will now be known as Handler One because… Asset logic) is talking about the mission, probably. The Asset is listening, of course, probably taking notes in its mind or something (like a nerd), when something interesting is said.

“… and this’ll be a long-term mission, you got it?” Handler One redirects his attention to the agents standing behind The Chair (and yes, The Chair will be keeping those capital letters, thank you very much, reader) and fixes a narrow-eyed glare upon them.

(Is it racist to think he looks oddly Asian like that?

Yeah, yeah it is.

Wait, isn’t his grandfather Japanese?

Besides the point.)

“It’ll be _your_ job to make sure it doesn’t malfunction, yeah? I shouldn’t have to tell you that more time without a wipe equals more memories, so you’re going to need to go for some sort of Dominance Establishment every week or so. Think you assholes can handle it?”

The agents nod quickly, heads bobbing like those little action figures with disproportionately large  heads. Figureheads? Head-bobbles? Bobbleheads? Whatever.

“Alright,” Handler One says, eyebrows twitching momentarily. “Get him suited up. Let’s go.” The Asset is lifted out of The Chair by two of the agents standing behind it.

(What the hell is up with that malfunction, by the way? The Asset needs to get its shit together, honestly.)

“Should we hose it down?” Agent One asks with a raised eyebrow. Handler One shrugs.

“May as well.”

Ugh.

 

\---

 

After The Asset has been hosed down (always a fun experience, with the freezing water and all), it’s dressed in the customary armor. It takes the guns laid out in front of it and places them in the concealed holsters, grenades in the holders along its waist, knives in the sheathes hidden in its boots and sleeves and torso and pants and -

You get the point.

According to Handler One, this mission is an in-and-out - in New York - Manhattan, specifically -

(Brooklyn’s better, but it guesses it can deal with the city.)

(Wait, what?)

\- on the East Coast of the United States.

A minor government official, supposedly covering as one while in reality being the head of an organization called the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division (more commonly known as SHIELD by those aware of its existence). Colonel Nicholas Joseph Fury, known as Nick Fury by associates. Despite his title, a severe lack of security has been noticed - possibly because of his capabilities as a military official, possibly because of the need to maintain his cover.

The Asset’s job is not to kill (fortunately, as killing tends to lead to an odd churning in its chest area), but to only temporarily injure and (if possible) tranquilize, leading to the kidnapping of Colonel Nicholas Joseph Fury. If all goes well, its mission will result in the conversion of Colonel Nicholas Joseph Fury into a Hydra agent, used as a double agent to further infiltrate SHIELD.

The Asset tugs on the sleeves of its suit, futilely attempting to straighten out the wrinkles in the crisp white shirt caused by the plates of its metal arm. It smooths down the lines of its slacks, adjusts the way the socks slide into the dress shoes (uncomfortable as they are), and uses the black hairband provided to it to tie its hair into what is referred to in modern culture as a "man-bun". It is suddenly reminded of red hair, pulled tightly into a - ballerina bun?

To be ignored.

 

\---

  
  


The Asset is transported via Agents One through Five into what Handler Two calls a "Quinjet", a flying device piloted by Agents Three and Four, with Agent One to its right and Agent Two sitting in a reclined position across from it.

"Why the hell did Rumlow decide we all needed to be here, again?"

Agent Two responds in kind. "Fuck if I know. The bitches in Asset Chem told Rumlow it gets aggressive when it goes too long without a wipe or something." Agent One nods.

"So what, you think he wants us here to fuckin' secure it if it goes wild? Guy's gotta know we can't take it when it gets like that, Jesus Christ."

 _Hell yeah, you can't_ , crosses its mind, and then abruptly -

_Where the hell did that come from?_

To be ignored.

 

\---

 

The Asset pulls at the cuffs of its stark white sleeves, face twitching at the way the cuffs itch against its skin.

“Oh - fuck, bro.” Agent Two glances up from his tablet.

“Yeah?” he asks, eyebrow twisting in confusion. “What’s up?”

“Are we gonna have to cut his fucking hair?”

Fuck.

 

\---

 

Hair freshly shortened (shunned? Shorned? Cut. It was fucking cut.), the Asset cringes at the way the tiny hairs feel against its neck when it shakes its head back and forth and back and forth -

It forcibly stops the movement of its head, holding both of its hands to the sides of its heads to stop the almost subconscious shaking.

Phew. Much better.

 

\---

 

The lights were too bright, so the Asset (“Alexander Davidson” for tonight - but “his” friends all call him Alex, so everyone he meets should too) pulls out the sunglasses stowed in the lining of his jacket and slips them on. If it had the added benefit of hiding nervous eyes from the agents, who were almost definitely looking for an excuse to practice their BDSM bullshit (wait - BDSM? The Asset… probably shouldn’t know what that is) on him, well. It couldn’t hurt, right?

Yes, it could. Oh well.

“ _Fury’s out on your seven, Asset,_ ” Agent Two says into his microphone. The Asset readjusts its earpiece (manipulated to look like a hearing aid in order to allay suspicion) to show that he heard.

“… and we said, ‘If the U.N. won't remove those landmines, we will.’ And we personally dug up over a thousand unexploded land mines from the area surrounding the orphanage.”

The Asset smiles widely, pulling out the Brooklyn charm it knew so well. “That’s… wow, Rachel, that’s amazing.”

Wait. Brooklyn charm?

To be ignored.

Rachel smiles demurely in return, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you so much! What did you say you did, Alexander?”

The Asset is probably supposed to say something like “Please, call me Alex,” maybe accompanied by a wink, or a lascivious smile, or something along those lines, but honestly it can’t be bothered.

Instead, it brushes a hand through its (unbearably short, this is ridiculous) hair, shrugging mildly. “I have a minor position in the government. Nothing big, though -” it leans in close as if sharing a secret, and Rachel’s eyes widen, “- I _have_ met the president.”

Technically, it isn’t even a lie. He did meet the president, but it was less _meeting_ and more _observing through a rifle scope_ , and the president wasn’t alive by the time the _meeting_ was over.

Yes, the Asset killed the president. Any problems?

It doesn’t think so.

“Wow, really?” Rachel lays a ring-adorned hand on her chest, leaning back as if to confirm the honesty of the Asset’s statement (by looking into its eyes? Okay, sure.)

(Also. This woman is married and trying to pick up Alexander Davidson? Jesus Christ.)

Her eyes crinkles. “What’s he like?” she asks, her head bobbing a little.

The Asset’s eyebrows raise, and it considers its words. Who’s the president right now? There’s something important about him, too…

Ah! Obama, Barack Hussein. The first black one, at least for America.

What a backwards country.

“He’s nice. Very - honest? Yes. Honest. A good man, I’d say.”

Rachel smiles widely, the red lipstick on her teeth shining brightly in the lights of the party. “Oh, well, I’d hope so - he _is_ our president after all!”

It glances off to the side. _Don’t jinx it, Rachel._

“… right. Well. I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid I must go… mingle some more.” It gives her the most sincere apologetic smile it can muster (which isn’t much, to be honest), and turns away as fast as it can.

“Mister… Davidson, am I right?” The Asset glances around hurriedly, and - there, on it’s three - Colonel Nicholas Joseph Fury.

“Yes, that’s me,” it says, smiling widely.

(Not too widely - the Asset had been given lessons on how to smile properly in certain situations after almost ruining a mission because “it smiled like a fuckin’ psycho, Jesus Christ”.)

“And you are - Nicholas Fury?”

“Yes. You, though - you can call me Nick.”

Damn it. The Asset _knows_ it should’ve given that line to Rachel. It would’ve worked like a charm, just like it is for Colonel Nicholas Joseph Fury.

Wait. Is it working? What is Colonel Nicholas Joseph Fury trying to accomplish here?

Is this mission turning into a honeypot?

“ _Holy fuck, this mission is turning into a honeypot!_ ” Agent One’s nasal voice blasts through the comms. The Asset winces, reaching up to its ear to lower the painful volume.

Colonel Nicholas Joseph Fury frowns. “Is everything okay? Mr. Davidson?”

“Please - Alex is fine,” it says, shaking its head as if to shake away flies.

“No worries - my hearing aid went a little rough, sorry.”

“ _Asset - Asset, you have to fuck him!_ ”

Agent One snorts, soft in the Asset’s ear. “ _See - oh my god, Asset - ha, see if you can get a visual!_ ”

It tunes them out.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Would you rather talk somewhere more… quiet, then?”

The Asset’s smile is almost genuine.

“Of course.”

 

\---

 

_five years later_

It starts with…

Well.

It starts with a fall.

A bit more of a literal fall than most falls at the beginning of a story, but a fall nonetheless.

You see, dear reader, Tony Stark is a genius.

(Real facts right here.)

As a genius, it’s part of his job to think of solutions to problems nobody else would even be able to dream of.

Yes, he’s serious - it’s in the job description. Look it up.

At any rate, Tony spends a shit load of time, figuring out solutions (too much time, if you listen to Pepper - but Pepper’s not the (only) one keeping the board happy, so Tony usually doesn’t bother).  His most recent stroke of genius?

Altitude trackers.

Altitude. Trackers.

!!!!

Like a regular tracker, right? But with altitude, too!

Are you clapping yet?

No?

Well.

Oh - you don’t understand _why_!

Of course.

As you have almost certainly noticed by now, the non-flying Avengers (and even sometimes the flying ones - damn it, Sam!) have started habitually jumping off buildings, apparently with the (totally and absolutely ridiculous) assumption that someone would be available to catch them before they fell to their DEATH.

Sure, they’d been lucky so far, but certain… events, let’s say, had convinced him it was only a matter of time.

 

\---

 

“Ew.” Tony’s nose crinkles severely as he examines the slime on his suit. The comms crackle suddenly, and Clint’s voice floods into his ear.

“Listen, y’all - _ew, Jesus_ \- as long as you don’t - _oh my God, eugh, holy shit_ \- get any of the slime on your skin, you’ll be fine. Probably.”

Tony snorts. He blasts up into the air and shakes his body furiously, something about the action reminding him of a dog, as he watches with a sort of morbid fascination as the specks of slime come flying off him.

“What _exactly_ happens when the slime gets on you?” he asks, landing softly back down on the ground (and on top of a dead slug, ew).

There’s a hesitation coming from the other end, but finally Steve speaks.

“Well. You start, um. Throwing up slugs.”

Jesus _Christ_.

Someone reads too much _Harry Potter_ in their free time.

“Yikes. Be sure to avoid that, then.”

Tony finds himself settling into a sort of rhythm: repulsor blast, gunshot, building jump rescue (the assholes), then a flight to a different area to start the whole process all over again. He’d just fired off a repulsor blast towards one of the slugs when -

“WINTER!”

Tony swivels around and - there, right behind him, the Winter Soldier free falling from a building half a mile away from him. He glances around as quick as he can, but there’s no sign of anyone who can stop Winter’s fall.

He starts flying -

_Ten seconds until arrival._

_Two thousand feet and six inches to impact._

_Nine seconds until arrival._

_One thousand eight hundred eighteen feet and seven inches to impact._

\- just a little bit farther -

_Eight seconds until arrival._

_One thousand six hundred thirty six feet and nine inches to impact._

_Seven seconds until arrival._

_One thousand four hundred fifty four feet and eleven inches to impact._

\- and he can see the fear pooling in Winter’s eyes -

_Six seconds until arrival._

_One thousand two hundred seventy three feet and one inch to impact._

_Five seconds until arrival._

_One thousand ninety one feet and two inches to impact._

\- his heart pounding in his ears -

_Four seconds until arrival._

_Nine hundred nine feet and four inches to impact._

\- and he pushed the blasters just a little bit farther -

_Three seconds until arrival._

_Seven hundred twenty seven feet and five inches to impact._

\- come on come on come _on_ -

_Two seconds until arrival._

_Five hundred forty five feet and seven inches to impact._

\- and -

_One second until arrival._

_Three hundred sixty three feet and nine inches to impa-_

“Gotcha,” he murmurs, catching Winter with one metal-covered hand. He notices with a start that Winter’s mask (new and improved by yours truly) is hanging off by one strap attached to his right ear, but Winter’s hair is being blown into his face by the wind, so Tony isn’t too worried.

“Thanks, Shellhead,” Winter mutters, and Tony is once again startled, this time by the unhindered sound of Winter’s voice. He probably should’ve realized, especially considering he was the one who has created the technology, but Winter’s voice modulation is controlled with the mask, meaning that the voice he just heard is Winter’s normal speaking tone.

Fuck.

It’s fucking _gorgeous_.

All baritone and shit - God, Winter sounds like he just got out of bed. Maybe it’s the two-thousand-foot fall? Maybe he’s just surprised? Whatever it is, it sounds fucking amazing.

Tony can’t believe it’s been five years and that’s the first he’s heard of Winter’s voice.

He needs to hear that way more often.

 

\---

 

So.

Yeah.

He decided, right there and then, that he needed to make altitude trackers.

In his defense - that had been scary! Yeah, so he knew that people fell at an average of 181.86 feet per second, and that he was only around ten seconds away, and that at most he would’ve gotten to maybe 200 hundred feet above the ground before someone managed to catch him, but. Still.

At any rate, that’s what he’s doing. He had needed to redesign Clint’s armor at some point (after the slug incident, Clint had blatantly refused to wear armor that showed any skin below the face), and this provided the perfect excuse.

“J - give me some AC/DC.”

 _Shoot to Thrill_ starts blasting through the workshop speakers, and muscles that he didn’t even realize were tense start relaxing of their own volition.

“Okay, so… stretch vinyl for the sleeves, because of course he wants sleeves, maybe cotton for the legs? Cotton spandex maybe… I should give him a fucking ass cutout, see how much he likes that… maybe the tracker in the forearm stitching? No, his arm guards… maybe the middle of his chest? That’d probably be the most accurate…”

“Sir?”

Tony’s head jerked up from where it was stubbornly stationed, buried deep in holographic designs.

“Yeah?” After answering, Tony absentmindedly notes that the music’s volume has been turned down.

“The Winter Soldier is requesting entrance, Sir. Shall I allow him to enter?”

Tony waves a hand, already turning back to Clint’s armor designs. “Yeah, yeah, let ‘im in.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tony registers the quiet noise of his workshop doors entering, but he doesn’t bother looking up just yet. When he does, though, he finds the soldier sitting on his ass (on the floor, no less), knees cradled to his chest and head buried in between his thighs.

Tony hurriedly grabs the digital notepad he had been using to take notes and scribbles something down.

_@j wht tm dd he cm dwn_

Bright blue words appear quickly, a ding sounding that would’ve alerted him to their presence if he hadn’t been staring intently at the screen.

_~3:20 PM. Time now is 4:17 PM._

_hw long bn sitting ?_

_~50 minutes._

“Shit”, he mutters, and scrambles over to where Winter is crouched.No response, but that’s okay.

“Hey, buddy,” he says in as calming a tone as he can manage, “I’m gonna rest my hand on your thigh, okay?”

He places his hand delicately on Winter’s thigh. Almost immediately, Winter’s hand - flesh, this one, which means it’s bad - grasps his, but Winter had taken his goggles off and Tony can see that his eyes are firmly clenched shut.

Without moving his hand from its precarious position, he arranges his legs into a more comfortable position, laying his other hand on top of Winter’s to sweep his thumb back and forth in a soothing gesture. He’s never done it before when the soldier is in the midst of one of his panic attacks, so he doesn’t know how it’ll affect him, but at this point (fifty minutes!) Tony’s willing to try anything?

“Winter? How you doin’?”

It takes a few seconds, Winter’s mouth opening and closing as he tries to find his voice, but finally he says, “Shellhead.”

Tony has to hold back a cringe (Winter’s voice is hoarse as _fuck_ ) as he pushes himself off of the floor, already heading towards his private exit. “Yeah, yeah - of course, why would you - aha, yeah, yeah, I’ll go get him, he’ll be right back - here, sorry, yeah, okay.”

He slips quietly through the door in the back of his workshop, and the suit is already there waiting for him to step into it.

“Thanks, JARVIS,” he whispers, stepping carefully into the suit and watching as it closes around him. Holograms pop up around him as his faceplate closes, showing him his vitals and the dimensions of the room he’s in.

He opens the door again to find Winter in the same position, hand still resting on his thigh where Tony’s was before.

Ugh.

He stomps over, trying to be as quick as possible. “Hey Winter - y’ think maybe we should head on over to the couch?”

Winter nods, nothing more than a tiny shake of his head, and Tony picks him up almost immediately, easy as anything. He heads over to the couch he keeps in the workshop (usually for when he’s too tired to head up to his floor, though it does help for times like these) and sits down, placing Winter down to his right as gently as possible.

The soldier almost immediately curls up into Tony’s side (always surprising, considering his side is made of metal) and lays his hand (skin-and-bone, again) on Tony’s chest, right above the arc reactor. Almost without him thinking about it, the gauntlet on his left arm retracts, leaving his skin bare from hand to elbow. He grabs Winter’s hand and entwines his fingers with Tony’s own, resting their hands on his knees.

With Tony’s right arm free, he lays it across Winter’s shoulders and the soldier almost immediately curls his head into the junction between Tony’s armpit and chest. Tony’s mouth curls into a sappy smile (ew), and he almost tries to tamp it down before realizing that Winter can’t see it.

“Everything’s okay, sweetheart, everything’s fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yahoo! come find me on [tumblr](http://partlycharlie.tumblr.com), yell at me in the comments, let me know what you thought! have a good one y'all  
> (also i might add more just . be aware ya hoes)


	2. fuck bitches, get money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He does jazz hands.  
> Why did he just do jazz hands? Who is he, Howard Stark?  
> Yikes, too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahahahahahahaha hello! was not planning on another chapter and then was reminded that i have a word minimum ! so i BANGED this shit out in . 5 hours here you go
> 
> also i do not do NOT know how to write kissing so please don't ask me about why i ended it there i'm sorry
> 
> love u guys <3

“You know you should tell him, right?”

Bucky groans, flopping over the back of the couch in dismay. “I know. Fuck me, I know.”

Steve shakes his head. Smirking like the asshole he knows he is, he says, “You’re an idiot sometimes -”

 

\---

 

“- you know that?”

“Yes, I’m well aware, thank you.” Tony rolls his eyes from his precarious position, and Rhodey sighs in response.

“Okay…” Rhodey trails off, voice scratching a little with the shitty quality of the video call. “So what are you -”

 

\---

 

“- going to do about it?”

Bucky sighs. “Fuck if I know. I don’t think I can afford to tell him, but -”

 

\---

 

“- I can’t go on much longer, to be honest.” Tony groans, almost reaching up to scrub a hand down his face before realizing that his position relies on his hands for balance.

“Well. I don’t really think there’s much -”

 

\---

 

“- I can do to help you here, buddy. You already know what I think,” Steve says, the smug smirk on his face betraying his innocent facade.

Bucky grumbles unintelligibly, and Steve lifts a hand to his ear in response.

“What was that? I didn’t -

 

\---

 

“- quite hear you.”

“Fuck you, Rhodey, you know what I said.”

“Yeah, well.” Rhodey lifts an eyebrow in response. Just one.

Asshole.

Tony sighs. “Blah blah blah, tell Winter you’re Tony Stark, blah blah blah, your relationship with him won’t -”

 

\---

 

“- last, blah blah blah, you can’t start a relationship with lies, blah blah blah…”

Steve’s smirk twists into something more sympathetic. “You know you have to tell him, right?”

Bucky swivels around, almost hitting Steve in the face with his right foot as he settles back into an upright position. He makes a weird sort of groaning noise - a _hhhhhh_ sound.

 

\---

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

\---

 

“Okay. Okay, I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna do it. Hoo boy. Gonna do it. Okay. Alright.” Bucky starts to pace around the room, almost tripping over Steve’s feet as he walks past him.

“Yep.”

“Okay. Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. Okay. Yep, everything’s fine. Ohhhh yeah, okay, I’m gonna do it!”

“Yep.”

“Yeah. Okay!”

“Yep.”

“What should I wear? Maybe the red button-down with the checkered stripes?”

“Yep.”

“What about the blue jeans? Hmm… no, the black ones are better, right?”

“Yep.”

“Shoes?”

“Yep.”

“Well, obviously I’m going to wear shoes but which ones should I wear?”

“Yep.”

Bucky blinks rapidly.

“You’re not paying attention, are you.”

It’s a question, not a statement.

“Yep.”

He sighs and drags a hand down his face. “Mother of God…” Bucky turns around to face Steve, who’s sitting on the edge of his bed with his phone in his hand, probably playing some ridiculously addicting game.

“Steve. Steve. Steeeeeve. STEVE.”

He finally glances up. “Yeah?”

“I hate you.”

Steve smiles softly. “I know.”

“I’m leaving now.”

Steve’s face crinkles up suddenly. “With _that_ shirt?”

Bucky glances down at himself, then looks back up at Steve with confusion. “What’s wrong with my shirt?”

 

\---

 

_HHHHHHH._

“What do I _do_?”

A series of beeps.

“Well, yeah, I know I have to tell him. But when? What? Where? Why? Who?”

Another beep.

“Okay. Who: Him. What: Tony Stark - genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist - is Iron Man - superhero, badass extraordinaire, all-around awesome dude. When: Fuck if I know.”

Angry whirring.

“Listen, Dummy, I am procrastinating this announcement as long as humanly possible, okay?” Tony points a wiggling finger at the robot, who boops it with his arm.

“Anyway. Where: Here? Probably here. Probably. Yeah. Here. Okay. Hoo boy. Okay.”

DUM-E boops him softly on the nose, and Tony lets out a noisy sigh as his body deflates.

“Okay. Why: Oh lord, _why_ -”

“The Winter Soldier is requesting entrance, Sir. Shall I allow him to enter?”

“Oh, motherfucker Jesus Christ son of a _bitch_.” Tony looks down at himself; greased - everything, really, bare feet, probably baggy eyes…

Ugh.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, fine, let him in.” He spins around in his wheely chair (whee! Ha, Tony is such a child) to face the doors in preparation.

The doors slide open and Winter enters, this time with Tony’s eyes following him. He doesn’t think he could handle it if this time Winter has another panic attack because Tony decided to be a dumbass and ignore him.

“Hey, Winter, what’s up?” he says, smiling widely. DUM-E leans out from behind him and beeps softly.

“Hey.” Winter steps into the room and the doors close behind him, leaving his back flush to what looks like solid glass (but, you know, solid). “I, uh. Wanted to talk to Iron Man about something?”

“Oh!” Of course he does, you dumbass, why would he be here to see you? “Yeah, I’ll go get him.”

Slip through the private entrance, slip the suit on, slip back out, and -

“Hey - Winter! Didn’t expect to see you here.” Iron Man’s voice is warm (and sappy! Stop with that!). “Tony said you had something you wanted to talk to me about?”

Winter’s cheeks lift from behind the domino mask, and his eyes flash a brilliant blue. “Yeah. Yeah, I, uhm - I had something I wanted to tell you.”

“Yeah… so did I, actually. Good timing?”

Fuck, Tony did not think this reveal was going to happen so soon.

Ugh.

“Haha, yeah.” Tony can’t help but notice that Winter’s laughter sounds like the singing of a thousand little fairies, even through the voice modulator.

Ew. That was a little too sappy, even for him.

“So, um. Mine has to do with my identity?”

Holy _shit_.

“Oh, wow,” Tony coughs out, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck (metal? Metal neck? Ugh.) in a nervous motion Pepper has told him multiple times he needs to get rid of, “me too! What a - ha, what a coincidence. Wow.”

Winter’s eyes widen. “Oh! Oh. Okay. Um. I guess I should go first, huh?”

Tony’s eyes dart nervously around the room despite knowing Winter can’t see him. “Um. Yeah? If you’re comfortable with that, obviously.”

Instead of responding verbally - which, yeah, Tony can understand that, he’s nervous as hell too - Winter just reaches up to the back of his mask and undoes the fingerprint-scan locks, one by one. He rips of the mask, and -

Holy shit. That’s James Barnes.

Barnes’ smile comes out more like a grimace. “Yeah. That’s me.”

“Did I just say that?”

Barnes - should Tony be calling him Bucky? - laughs again, this time a little less nervous. “Yeah. You have a habit of doing that. So does Tony, come to think of it.” He smiles fondly.

Why does Tony feel jealous? Bucky’s talking about _him_.

Still.

What the fuck?

That’s Bucky Barnes. James Barnes! James Buchanan Barnes! Fuck!

Tony’s been flirting (fuck, he’s been _flirting_ ) with Steve’s best friend!

Oh mother _fucker_.

Tony realizes suddenly that Bucky is waiting for him to say something, and in the next moment comes to understand that he’s just been provided with the perfect segue.

(Which, by the way (ha, another segue), why is _segue_ pronounced like _segway_? The English language is a lie.)

“Ha! Speaking of Tony.” Tony blinks twice, then scrunches his face up for a long second, and the suit starts to unfold around him. “Tada!”

Bucky’s eyes widen. “No fucking way.”

Tony’s face twists into what is probably the most awkward expression ever. “Yep.”

He does jazz hands.

Why did he just do jazz hands? Who is he, Howard Stark?

Yikes, too soon.

“Wow.” Bucky scratches the skin above his eyebrow and blows out a massive breath. “Damn.”

“What, you disappointed?” Tony tries to play it off as a joke, but he thinks his voice ends up coming out just a little bit too sincere.

Bucky’s eyebrows crease. “What? No - no, no, no, how could I be disappointed? Tony, I’ve had a crush on you for ages now. I mean, come on. You haven’t noticed? It’s been getting kind of ridiculous, actually. Steve keeps riding my ass about it - guess he’ll be glad to find out I got it all worked out.”

Huh.

“But. What?” Tony’s face feels frozen in confusion. He glances around the room a few times, then looks down at himself and across to Bucky. “But. You only ever come in here for repairs or to see Iron Man - also me, I guess, but not really?”

“Okay, yeah, but - _ohmygodthisissoembarrassing_ \- half the time I come down here for repairs I did it to myself ‘cause I wanted to spend time with you. Have you not noticed that it’s always, y’know, a snipped wire? Or a loose gear, or whatever? Easy shit? Oh - plus, I usually spend a bunch of time with you before I ask about Iron Man - or you, whatever - because. I dunno. I like spending time with you?”

Huh.

Interesting.

“Can I kiss you?” The words come flying out of his mouth before he can even consider them. Tony cringes internally, waiting for the backlash, but luckily Bucky smiles widely before he can start apologizing wildly and fucking up his chances.

“Fuck yeah.”

And -

Fireworks.

Fuck yeah.

**Author's Note:**

> yahoo! come find me on [tumblr](http://partlycharlie.tumblr.com), yell at me in the comments, let me know what you thought! have a good one y'all  
> (also i might add more just . be aware ya hoes)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [And Everyone He Knows](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16961979) by [magniloquentChanteuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magniloquentChanteuse/pseuds/magniloquentChanteuse)




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